Slowly and meticulously Albert counted his socks into the washing machine. Three pairs of black, matching. A pair of Christmas socks adorned with Christmas puddings that he reluctantly wore when his clean sock supplies were low. Two pairs of plain brown ones, office socks for the most part, and 4 pairs of white sports socks that he wore to the gym or when he occasionally wore shorts.
Ten pairs.
Twenty socks.
He placed a washing pod into the drum, and poured a careful measure of softener into the open drawer protruding from the washing machine front. He closed the door, click. He closed the softener draw. Click. Beep beep beep and the washing program was initiated. Water hissed and the drum began to spin slowly.
Albert pulled up a chair and placed it in front of the machine and fixed his eyes on the washing machine window. He would wait. He was happy to wait.
At exactly the same time, an immeasurable distance away across space and time, the Grand Acolyte of the Imani people raised his hands to the sky in supplication to the gods. The Imani people, a small tribe of roving cloud shepherds, no more than 50 or so at last count, murmured in approval as the Grand Acolyte implored the heavenly deities to bestow upon them a sign of approval.
The gods found it all rather tiresome, but someone had to shepherd the clouds, and so they cocked an ear. It was the least they could do, and they did seem to be doing quite a good job lately. T
“What are they after now?” asked one of the water gods, dragged from an intriguing conversation with an intergalactic Star Lord whom he thought might make a rather good mate for one of his sons.
“A sign,” grumbled an ancient. He was a whirling collection of electrons and space dust, his heart a burning star and eyes that reflected the meteor showers at the end of time. He was the sort of god that wandering poets and charlatan religious types would tell tales of to scare the locals into offerings of first born children and the best bits of bread from the dinner table.
He sighed. They did love a good sign. Made them feel noticed and significant. Which they were not, but it was always best to not let on otherwise the clouds could end up in a frightful state, and that just would not do.
“So be it, “ he said, and with a wave of what would have been a hand he went to take a bath.
At the same time a number of things happened. The Grand Acolyte gasped and fell to his knees as an electric blue portal opened before him and a Christmas sock fell into his cradled hands. The Imani people declared that surely they were worthy and this was without doubt a great day and from this moment forth they would worship the curious woven pouch that had been bestowed upon them.
On a simple kitchen chair in a small kitchen in a small house in a quaint village about an hour from London, Albert was momentarily distracted from his washing by his post falling through his letterbox and onto the hall floor. Had he not been distracted he might just have noticed a feint blue light inside the washing machine for the briefest of moments.
But he did not see it. And when he counted his socks at the end of the spin cycle, once more he would discover that again, just as happened every time he did a wash, one was missing.
Over the many years Ive been dabbling on here I have always enjoyed prompts. Quite often I like to create lists for myself, and I always enjoy them even more when I have an image or two to stir my writing loins.
So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.
Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.
If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 25th of February.
If there is interest or people actually get into it I might compile the best one from each week and pop them into a compilation of sorts and pop it on Amazon at the end of the year (accredited of course). But let’s see how it goes first eh…
So this week your prompt is ‘Portal’, and these are a few pics to go with it.
Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.
“Good morning, Toad,” mumbled Frog with a mouthful of dragonfly. “How are you this morning?” She asked.
Toad shuffled alongside the pond’s murky waters and looked across to where Frog sat on her lily pad, eating.
It was a bright, sunny day, and the sun was already climbing into the crystal blue sky.
“Good morning, Frog,” he croaked. “The pond is especially full today, isn’t it?”
Toad was not particularly good at conversation, but he did know a full pond when he saw one, and this pond was most definitely full.
Frog finished her fly before she replied.
“Indeed it is Mr. Toad,” she said, “the storms have come at just the right time, and the ponds and rivers and waterholes are all wonderfully deep. Are you going for a swim this morning?” She asked. “The water is cool, and the flies are many.”
Frog’s dark eyes protruded from her pale green skin, darted left and right and up and down. Toad nodded in answer to her question, and was just about to slip into the water when Frog’s tongue shot out. In the blink of an eye she was chewing on another blue-green dragonfly that had strayed too close. The dragonfly’s delicate, black wings hung from her lips as she ate heartily.
“That looks delicious,” Toad said, enviously.
He was quite hungry himself, and dragonflies were a favourite of his – if he could manage to catch one.
“It looks like another lovely day,” he said.
“Oh, it does,” said Frog.
What a handsome Toad indeed, she thought to herself.
“Would you like to join me for some breakfast Mr. Toad?” She asked, smiling a wide smile.
“Breakfast?” Toad replied, looking somewhat confused. Breakfast with a frog was quite out of the ordinary for toads. Frogs were frogs, and toads were toads as far as he had been led to believe.
Frog saw the confused look on Toad’s face, and she laughed. “Mr. Toad, we are not so different, you and I. You like the pond, don’t you?”
Toad agreed that he did very much like the pond.
“And you like lily pads, don’t you?” Frog asked.
Toad thought for a moment and agreed that yes, he certainly did like lily pads.
“And what about flies?” Frog asked. “Surely, you like flies, don’t you?”
Toad didn’t need to think about this at all; He thoroughly enjoyed flies. Flies were one of his favourite things; flies were better even than lily pads and ponds.
“I do, yes,” Toad answered. “I like flies most definitely.”
Frog smiled and suggested that he should join her for breakfast then, as he enjoyed ponds and lily pads and flies just as much as she did.
Despite enjoying flies and lily pads and ponds, Mr. Toad was still taken aback by the offer as he had never had breakfast with a Frog before.
“I see,” he replied, thinking about the proposal. They did seem to enjoy the same things. “I think then that I would enjoy that.”
Frog jumped from her lily pad into the water with a splash and soon hopped out of the pond to join him as they set off around the water’s edge in search of breakfast.
As Toad shuffled, Frog hopped alongside. They travelled together, chatting and occasionally stopping to gobble a fly or share a juicy centipede. Now and then, they would pop back in the pond for a quick refreshing dip or to rest on a lily pad.
And so, Frog and Toad spent the morning together, and breakfast became lunch, and lunch became supper.
They talked of frog things and toad things and things that were neither frog nor toad things but were still things that frogs and toads might discuss. And when the end of the day came, Frog slipped back into the pond, and Toad walked off slowly back to his log.
“Same time tomorrow?” Shouted Frog bobbing up and down in the water as she watched him walking away slowly, her heart racing just a little faster.
“Most definitely,” said Toad as the sun began to set, golden rays reflecting like fire on the rippled waters of the pond.
He did so enjoy ponds and lily pads and flies after all…
Over the many years Ive been dabbling on here I have always enjoyed prompts. Quite often I like to create lists for myself, and I always wnjoy them even more when I have an image or two to stir my writing loins.
So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.
Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.
If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 18th of February.
If there is interest or people actually get into it I might compile the best one from each week and pop them into a compilation of sorts and pop it on Amazon at the end of the year (accredited of course). But let’s see how it goes first eh…
So this week your prompt is ‘Natural Order’, and these are a few pics to go with it.
Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.
Countless suns blazed across the inky night sky as the city below held it’s breath, twenty million inhabitants watching as the royal wedding party descended slowly in a small silver pod, the gigantic form of the orbiting class 1 Pleasure Craft an imposing and regal backdrop.
The pod travelled slowly towards the iridescent high towers of the State palace, the twin moons looking on like a heaving pair of breasts, and the pod seemingly slipped between them before disappearing from sight.
Whilst the crowds waited, hungry for the confirmation that the bonds between the two warring peoples had been cemented, crimson clad handmaids whisked the Prince Aurorus from his silent carriage towards the bed chamber. High vaulted ceilings and pristine marble floors reached out before him, the wedding train floating behind.
Wide eyed he gasped at the beauty of the palace, he had always imagined them so savage and base, but this spoke to something more beautiful and advanced. His heart pounded at the closeness of the alien handmaids, for as long as he could remember sworn enemies of her people. But now, through this bond, peace might be restored to the universe.
At least that is what father had told him in those moments before he had been whisked away by the high priests. He remembered how the ground had shaken as the low orbit bombers strafed the citadel back home. Beyond the blast shields that kept them safe, the world burned, and mother sat and watched, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t look as he was escorted from the room. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
And now here he was, surrounded by grandeur once more.
“Make yourself comfortable,“ said one of the handmaids as they passed through large ornate doors into a dimly lit room. He could make out the glitter of gold and precious stones on the walls as he walked towards the large bed that sat in the middle of the floor.
“Here?” he asked.
The handmaid nodded and hissed a command in her own tongue. The others all left the room leaving just the two of them. The handmaid motioned once more to the bed, nodded again and smiled a wide mouthed smile, eyes flashing and her scales catching the light. She then backed slowly out of the room, pulling the heavy doors closed behind her.
Aurorus knew what was next. Simple, painless and necessary he had been told. The priests spoke of duty, of tradition, of oaths that needed to be upheld, of the need to...
“My Prince,“ came a voice from the shadows. “Welcome once more,” it continued.
Barl stepped from the darkness and stood before Aurorus. He seemed larger now that he had during the ceremony. Aurorus tried to speak but the words caught in his throat. Barl walked across to him, his yellow eyes deep set in his head, flashed as he looked at him there on the bed.
“They are waiting for us you know?” he said, “For our people to be united through our union. For light to return to the universe on this most glorious of days.”
Aurorus nodded. He knew. The priests had prepared him, assuring with hand wringing and much nodding that their people were not so different in so many ways.
Barl stood fully eight foot tall, the light reflected on his scales and they flickered with purples and reds, thick horns running the length of his arms and his long tail swishing around behind him, the tip curling as it rose and fell with his breathing.
“What is that?” Aurorus asked, motioning to the thick appendage that he held in his hand. It started in the middle of his chest, curled around his arm, and sat comfortably in his palm.
Barl look confused. “Did they not prepare you? It is my Schlem-na”
Aurorus felt uneasy. The priests had not mentioned that, he was quite certain. That was not something you would easily forget.
“Never heard of that,“ he said, pulling his knees tight to his chest. He watched him hold it towards him, almost as an offering.
Aurorus shook his head.
“The end comes off,“ said Barl, as if that might be some comfort.
Aurorus watched as the end opened up.
“You can fuck right off,“ he exclaimed, shifting back on the bed.
Barl tilted his head to the side, unsure of the words, they weren’t ones he was familiar with.
“And look, from inside the Schlem-na you can see the galtob,” Barl continued. He seemed very proud of his galtob. The galtob snaked from inside the Schlem-na, a full foot long, as thick as a finger and a bright blue. Like the sky at home, Aurora thought, only far more terrifying.
But it was nowhere near as pretty as the skies at home, and when the tip of the galtob hissed and bared a hundred pin like teeth he screamed, recoiling.
“My Prince,” said Barl looking to assure him. “Is it not a most regal and princely thing? Is it not the mightiest galtob across a thousand worlds?”
He seemed to be of a mind that it was, though Aurorus – being no expert in such things, was wholly unprepared to make any sort of qualified assessment as to the majesty of Barl’s Schlem-na, galtob, or anything else for that matter. The bed sheets were quite nice, and he had quite enjoyed the wedding robes and the ceremony, but right now they seemed somewhat secondary considerations.
Barl’s galtob let out a shrill scream.
Aurorus let out one too.
The galtob reared and darted towards him. Barl felt his Schlem-na vibrate in his palm and he groaned with pleasure.
“Galtob approves,” he declared jubilantly, and crawled onto the bed next to him. Galtob did indeed approve and schlem-na backed up his affirmation with another girthy pulse.
“What do you say my prince?,” Barl pressed.
Aurorus recoiled as he stretched out the hand that was not holding his hissing collection of matrimonial hellishness.
Aurorus closed his eyes.
Once more Barl pressed, and the galtob snaked slowly towards Aurorus, swaying hypnotically. The teeth seemed to smile as it neared him and he could have sworn she heard it call his name and tell him what a pretty mouth he had and such slender hips.
“No,“ whispered Aurorus.
Barl leaned in. The Galtob now just inches from his face, pressing once more.
“Are you ready to make the universe whole again? To bring unity and peace and to cease this chaos?” Barl asked.
The galtob trilled sweetly and the pulsing of the schlem-na quickened. Barl smiled, rows of razor sharp teeth in his thick scaled face. A broad aperture opened in his forehead and a second galtob snaked out, though this one was thicker and pink and dripped a thick white liquid.
Barl saw Aurorus' eyes widen..The mouths of the galtob opened in unison.
---------------------------------------------
Does Aurorus:
A) Gently wrap his fingers around the First galtob, giggling as the Schlem-Na flushes pink with anticipation, the second galtob whispering sweet promises in his ear. Don't knock it until you try it, right? It is for world peace after all...
B) Bite off the head of the galtob as it darts from his forehead to his mouth, crush the schem-na in his hand, screaming wildly that the universe can burn for all he cares, whilst he grabs the second galtob, pulling it free and swinging it around his head like a tiny-mouthed lassoo... -----------------------------------------------
Hey I was just pissing about with this. It reminded me a bit of one of those choose your adventure books I had when I was about ten (at least one of which I actually still have) Anyway...it’s something...
Over the many years Ive been dabbling on here I have always enjoyed prompts. Quite often I like to create lists for myself, and I always wnjoy them even more when I have an image or two to stir my writing loins.
So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.
Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.
If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 4th of February.
If there is interest or people actually get into it I might compile the best one from each week and pop them into a compilation of sorts and pop it on Amazon at the end of the year (accredited of course). But let’s see how it goes first eh…
So this week your prompt is ‘>>>CONNEXION>>>’, and these are a few pics to go with it.
Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.
So this week tje prompt was “To Live and Die” and there were a few pics to go with it.
This is my effort
——————-
The first thought that went through Terence’s mind as he opened his eyes was “What a lovely light,” This thought was soon followed by a second which considered why the devil he might be lying on the floor, and a third one hot on the heels of the second which pondered where exactly he might be.
He attempted to move but nothing happened. His eyes seemed to be working just fine but beyond that nothing else did what it was meant to. Not one thing.
“Well this is just no good,” he said to himself, “this simply will not do at all.”
He strained again but still nothing.
For a while he lay there looking up at the light. “It really is quite pretty,” he thought, “I should get one like that for the hall at home.”
In an instant something about the word home triggered an explosion of memories and emotions inside of him. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a lifetime of experiences flashing before his eyes, and it all started with her.
She was present in almost every thought and every memory. She seemed to have been there from the very beginning but for some reason he could not recall her name. He could feel her touch and he could hear her voice , and she was all at once a stranger and so very familiar.
There were children too, and grand children. Birthdays, holidays, Christmas and so so much love and laughter. There was a little house by the sea, and a dog that always barked when the gate creaked. Memory after memory washed over him as he lay there looking at the ceiling, and as they flashed by she became older, yet no less beautiful.
In between the laughter there were tears, and the cold darkness of solitude and yet always the laughter and the love would return and each time he would see her smiling face. A great sadness overcame him as he saw her laid to rest, her coffin laid into the ground on a cold grey day. Terence lay quite still and enjoyed the intensity of each moment until, at last, he remembered how he got here, where he was and why he was looking at the ceiling.
And then there was nothing.
The Engineer crouched over Terence and ran a scanner across his forehead. He spoke into a small receiver embedded in his grey coverall collar.
“Base 9, this is Henderson, I have found the synth and can confirm that shut down has completed.”
“And what is his Status?” came a response.
Henderson double checked the dial. “I can confirm that the unit has reached end of life cycle and his memories have successfully downloaded to central.”
“Good work Henderson” came the response, “We will format the content and pass it onto the family, seems the owner’s kids were pretty fond of the unit and have asked for the memories.””Copy that.”
Over the many years Ive been dabbling on here I have always enjoyed prompts. Quite often I like to create lists for myself, and I always wnjoy them even more when I have an image or two to stir my writing loins.
So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.
Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.
If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 4th of February.
If there is interest or people actually get into it I might compile the best one from each week and pop them into a compilation of sorts and pop it on Amazon at the end of the year (accredited of course). But let’s see how it goes first eh…
So this week your prompt is ‘TO LIVE AND DIE’, and these are a few pics to go with it.
Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.
So this week the prompt is ‘Old gods’, and my short effort is below…
_________________
We thought we would live forever, that things would always be this way, that they would always believe and that would be enough.
We strode the world, wielding such power and how they worshipped us. It was never going to end.
Oh how wrong we were.
Those before us had warned us, as we crushed them, consigning them to myth. We were new and reckless, but you know how things are when you’re young. You think you know better. That isn’t to say we didn’t have a great time, we did. But oh it was over quicker than we could believe. You must have read the stories and seen the idols. We did that. We did all of that. We did everything..
Did you see that business with the minotaur? Yes? Well that was one of mine. How brilliant was that.
“You can’t mix a bull and a man,” they said. “That’s messed up.” They laughed, said it was silly and unnecessary, and that I should have some wine, try the grapes, they were apparently really good.
Well I showed them didn’t I.
And don’t get me started on me and Aphrodite. Those new boys thought they were better than us, that they weren’t interested in such temptations, but that’s what the boys who don’t get invited to the cool orgies always say isn’t it.
Well screw them, their time will come, and when it does they still won’t have been to any great parties or wild orgies and they will be left with…with…
What exactly will they be left with? I don’t think they’ve done a very good job. It all looks pretty messed up from where I’m sitting. And you know what…shall I tell you?
The orderly reached over and pulled a blanket across the knees of the old man. He tucked it in tight around his knees and wheeled the chair towards the small table for two in front of the wide window. The rain fell heavily from dark grey skies and lightning lit up the night in the distance.
“Would you like some pudding?” the orderly asked. “Then we’ll get you to bed shall we Mr Z.”
The prompt was ALCHEMY, he pics are below and these were the responses. A good start I think and it got a couple of folk going so that is a result in my book.
Michelle gave us this, continuing what she started last week
This is the link to the prompt, and the inspirational pics can be seen belpw. And this is my effort. Bit short as I have been sick all week but it is something, right?
He always promised that one day we’d leave, that things would be different and we would escape to a place where we could be together always. I smiled everytime he told me this, deep down he was a good man. A dreamer perhaps, but that was part of his charm, you know.
I remember when we were young, how we would lie outside the house in the long grass and look up at the sky. He would point and tell me all about the things he had read in his books. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you couldn’t help but believe him, because he obviously believed it himself.
“Out there, way out there,” he would say, “out there is where things will be different. Ive seen things.”
I would ask him what he had seen, but he would just smile and tell me I wouldn’t believe him, but I just needed to trust him.
And I should have.
But time does things to people, and promises and dreams fade eventually, and all that is left is reality.
But he never stopped believeing, even when we drifted apart. I would see him time to time and he would tell me that things would be different soon, and looking into his dark green eyes I almost believed him again.
But then the earth would shake, and the snow would fall, and once more things were just as they had always been…
Over the many years Ive been dabbling on here I have always enjoyed prompts. Quite often I like to create lists for myself, and I always wnjoy them even more when I have an image or two to stir my writing loins.
So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.
Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.
If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 28th of January.
If there is interest or people actually get into it I might compile the best one from each week and pop them into a compilation of sorts and pop it on Amazon at the end of the year (accredited of course). But let’s see how it goes first eh…
So this week your prompt is ‘Old gods’, and these are a few pics to go with it.
Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.
The prompt was DARLA, the pics are below and these were the responses. A good start I think and it got a couple of folk going so that is a result in my book.
Over the many years Ive been dabbling on here I have always enjoyed prompts. Quite often I like to create lists for myself, and I always wnjoy them even more when I have an image or two to stir my writing loins.
So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.
Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.
If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 22ndof January.
If there is interest or people actually get into it I might compile the best one from each week and pop them into a compilation of sorts and pop it on Amazon at the end of the year (accredited of course). But let’s see how it goes first eh…
So this week your prompt is ‘ALCHEMY’, and these are a few pics to go with it.
Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.
Darla was born in that timeless perineum of vague uncertainty and half eaten boxes of chocolates that occupies the days between Christmas eve and New years day. A place where time marches to the unfathomable beat of a dozen drunken drummers all attempting to play synchronised opening beats to Phil Collins’ ‘In the air tonight’ whilst being chased by killer clowns demanding they hurry up and get to the good bit.
As a large proportion of the world lurched between one bout of searing indigestion to the next, Darla came screaming into the world, perfectly pink and with a dark shock of hair that her mother claimed was surely from the gods, as she herself was blonde. The midwife’s suggestions that it was surely on the father’s side were dismissed out of hand as Darla’s mother insisted to the contrary as there was the small matter of an unwavering assertion that she had never slept with anyone to allow her to conceive. But who is going to listen to a teen mother with a tendency towards tie dye and tarot? No one, that is how many. Precisely no one at all.
And it was with that unwavering belief in her divine conception that Darla grew up. It did not make for easy friendships, whether she professed her beliefs from the rood tops or whispered it in darker corners was irrelevant, it simply followed her without the need for any effort on her part. As they bobbed along on the ebb and flow of life their past was impossible to completely leave behind, regardless of which small town they were soon packing up from or washing ashore on.
And it was in one of those small towns, which shall remain nameless as it is of interest to only for those flotsam and jetsam of humanity who found themselves floundered there, that Darla found herself when the end came. Or perhaps, when the end came for her.
In those final moments, most things burned and many other things collapsed. A third lot of things exploded into a sparkling cascade of death whilst everything not in categories one, two or three tended to whimper into oblivion with scant resistance. Had it not been so terrifying and cataclysmic it might have even been beautiful.
Darla took a deep breath and pulled her satchel across her shoulder. The skies crackled and spat like embers whipped by the wind, and she thought about her mother, and the stories of how she came from the gods. It had all been too much for mum, and she wouldn’t miss this place or these people.
It was time to leave, they would be here for her soon.
Over the many years Ive been dabbling on here I have always enjoyed prompts. Quite often I like to create lists for myself, and I always wnjoy them even more when I have an image or two to stir my writing loins.
So I figured I might share some of mine. Use it if you want. or don’t.
Theres no limit to how long or short it should be, just see where it takes you. It could be a short story, a poem, or just whatever takes your fancy.
If you send a pingback or a link to your piece in the comments I will gather all of the outputs together at the end of the week, so for this one the closing date will be Sunday the 15th of January.
If there is interest or people actually get into it I might compile the best one from each week and pop them into a compilation of sorts and pop it on Amazon at the end of the year (accredited of course). But let’s see how it goes first eh…
So this week your prompt is ‘Darla’, and these are a few pics to go with it.
Oh, and you can do what you want with the miages. They are all AI generated so no issues with copyright.
Amos sat in the old rocker, looking out across the open fields in front of the farm house. He watched wisps of clouds dancing across the sky and jet trails slowly dissolving into the blue and remembered a time, long ago now, when he was more than the frail old man now living out the last of his days watching the seasons pass from his window. Snippets of another life he was no longer sure were even his.
“You see that, girl?” he said, looking over at a canary is a small cage on a dresser next to the window. “You see those vapour trails? That was me once.”
The small yellow bird cheeped almost as if in response.
His eyes weren’t what they once were but he could still make out the feint outline of the city in the distance and he watched as shuttles, from this distance mere specks, took off and headed upwards towards the east pacific low orbit station.
There was a flash of silver as the sun caught the side of a large long haul transporter rising slowly upwards and he remembered, not at all fondly, the early days long before anti-grav when they had to strap you to a rocket just to get you into orbit. He didn’t miss the take offs, but he each landing was fresh in his mind as the day he had made them.
“Good times,” he mumbled to himself, rolling a small red rock no larger than a thumbnail between his fingers. A memento of his last trip to Mars smuggled home, and his most prized possession. He rocked slowly and pulled a blanket over his knees. He looked at it and his eyes lit up and a smile spread across his face. He had kept it locked away for decades but today, today he wanted to hold it. It was softer to the touch than he remembered, perhaps from being kept in the old cigarette tin in the dresser for so long.
“I went there you know,” he told his canary. He had told her uncountable times but he didn’t know that, not anymore. His once sharp mind was now a lottery when it came to the things he remembered and the things he did not. “I saw sunrise over the Martian planes, long before we stopped going there after what happened, and trust me, it was a sight to behold. Miles of red, like a sea of blood stretched out before us.”
The canary cleaned her feathers, then hopped down to the bottom of the cage.
“Oh yes,” he continued proudly, fragments of past glories now darting about his mind. “I was a real American hero. We even had a parade in thirty seven.”
The canary chirped again, and then for a second time, as Amos suddenly stiffened, a look of pain etched across his face. His right arm reached for his chest and the small rock fell from his hand. Amos gasped as the bird continued to call loudly. Amos was now in full cardiac arrest. His hands clenched into fists as the life ebbed slowly from his body, his eyes glazing over, and with a final gasp, Amos McCartney drifted into nothing.
And with that final gasp, his body now relaxed the chair rocked forwardm crushing the small rock fragment. Red dust smeared on the carpet beneath the runner of the old rocking chair. The canary chirped wildly, hopping up to the small wooden perch and then back to the cage floor, but there was nobody to hear it or heed it’s warnings.
Slowly, spreading out from the spot under the chairm a red stain began to creep. It first engulfed the chair and Amos, turning them a dark ochre red, and moments later the flesh and plaid blanket on his knees suddenly collapsed into dust. The canary flapped wildly, flying around the small cage panicked.
Outwards, it then began to spread, devouring all before it and turning everything it touched to ocre dust, and in a moment, the chirps of the canary were silenced…
A book that features nothing inappropriate at all…
Want to write a book? Want to know what it’s like trying to self publish? Well I just finished my second one so here’s my thoughts on the whole thing…
Step 1. Write a book.
Simple right. Well actually it is if you’re self publishing because you can publish a big old steaming bag of dog poo if you so wish. That is the beauty of it. I did mine in Microsoft word. I wrote words, I added pictures, I buggered around with fonts and layouts. Voila, book done.
Now, there are all sorts of programmes you can use if youre really wanting to go to town with planning and building your creation, such as Scrivener. For a small fee it will let you plan and detail your work to the most detailed degree – allowing you all the
This time round I decided to write a children’s book so I created 12 tales that revolve around animals in Africa and a waterhole and some such. I grew up in South Africa so that was part of the inspiration. Some of it also came from my blog where I did a load of animal stories a few years ago. Mostly it is a mish mash of all of that.
Step 2. Find an artist
I originally contacted someone from the blogging world to see if they fancied collaborating and doing the artwork because I loved her stuff and thought it would be a great fit – but unfortunately, we managed to both get confused over the whole matter and I thought she didn’t want to do it when she did and then I ended up going with someone else. I still want to work with her, but for this project I ended up going to Fiverr.
I found a fabulous artist on there, Naya Kirichenko, and she was just getting started and I loved some of her stuff and sent her a synopsis and said what do you think? She was keen and gave me a price and we were good to go. I sent her money, and in about a month or so she sent me 13 full pictures and some other wee bits and pieces. And I bloody loved them! She was just a pleasure to work with and nailed the brief perfectly. In fact, I’m still not sure my writing is up to the quality of her art…
You want to know what I paid right? I think it was about £25 a picture. Seriously cheap – though I didn’t know this at the time. Oh and I own the copyright to them all – definitely something you need to ensure you consider. Are you buying the work, are you collaborating and sharing profit, will they get (or even want) credit, etc. Fiverr really helps you work through this though as it helps you put together the contract of sale – and all the money goes through them also.
So by now I reckon I had sunk about £350 into the project.
Step 3. Buy your fonts because you couldn’t embed them.
Not all fonts are free to use as you see fit. Some are, but many are actually owned by people so if you want to use them in publicly published work sometimes you need to own rights to them. I used one that I ended up having to buy because I could not embed it in my word document when I wanted to prepare the document for upload to the printing service. I used LULU and Amazon KDP to create my books, and both needed the fonts embedding.
Okay, so I could find dubious ways around this, which involved just stealing the font off of the web, but I decided against it. Cost me about £60 as I recall.
Step 4. Get an editor when you hadn’t even thought about that.
One day I put a post on my blog saying I was working on the book and I was contacted by M from Her Writing Haven who offered her services as an editor,. Until now I thought I was doing okay and didn’t need one,. Turns out I could not have been more wrong. M was wanting to set herself up in the world of editing and so I gratefully accepted the offer to do it for gratis, and sent the manuscript. A few days later I received my first revision.
Turns out I really have no idea when it comes to punctuation and had I sent out what I thought was close to my finished version it really would have been a shoddy bag of words indeed. A few revisions later we were both happy that it was what it needed to be and I was good to progress! Without her help it would certainly not have been the book I am rather proud of…Thanks M!
I learned so much during this process and know now the value of the editor. Find one! Seriously…it can make such a difference! There are quite a few I’ve seen during my time on WordPress, and a number of the indie publishing houses will provide a service too. Cage Dunn, River at Potters Grove and Tara at Raw Earth ink spring immediately to mind.
Step 5. Spend what seems to be months tweaking the layout.
Oh sweet baby Jesus this was painful. Days and days and days of buggering around with margins, covers, layouts – all to get it to look spot on when you upload it. This nearly nmade me give up and I actually ended up taking 4 days off work to dedicate to it. I probably pent most of that tweaking and uploading to get it spot on. Oh and I then paid £16 a month for the ADOBE suite to really be able to do what I wanted with my PDF and cover because it was so hard. I shit you not, this bit was a mare!
So now I’m somewhere close to £400 to create this thing.
Save your word file with fonts embedded, save it as a pdf, check PDF text boxes, save it as a press ready PDF, upload it, view it, scream with frustration as the uploader doesn’t quite like your layout or picture DPI or spine spacing or some other such fuckery then do it over and over until you lose the will to live!
Breathe…
I got there eventually and now I am not sure what all the fuss was about. Or maybe I just pressed publish and no longer gave a monkeys toss about it. You decide.
Oh wait, I had to do this on LULU (because I wanted a hardback copy and at the time KDP didn’t do hardback), for KDP paper back, hardback and then a whole other process to create the Ebook. Did I not mention that? No ? Well you do . Treat each version like a completely different product and scream into the void four different time. Repeatedly.
And just a note on the E Book. I hate it. I get it has to be optimised for readers, but it loses all the beauty of the physical copy. It reads and looks different too as the fonts are limited and there are not many layout options. I priced it hoping no one would buy it to be honest.
Step 6 Tell people about it and make no money at all.
So ‘Im telling you lot, and Mrs Afterwards put it on Facebook and I told a few friends. But that is about it. I did consider traditional publishing, but that is another long road I am not prepared to go down yet. I wrote this for me and my kids and for the future grandkids maybe, not to make money.
How much money do I make I bet you’re wondering right?
Well I put them all for sale at cost with a slight rounding up so for paperbacks I think I make about £0.16p and for the hardback I think I make £0.01p. Seriously. You split profits 60/40 with Amazon so that’s ok., But then all printing costs come out of your cut. So yes, I literally get pennies for each book – but its not about the £. Unless you buy the E Book, I make about £5 on that as there is no printing cost – but as I said, it looks like old pants and just isn’t the product I really wanted it to be.
Really, It’s about creating my own thing and I bloody loved doing it, despite the frustration!
So would I recommend it? Yes, absolutely. You might want to try the likes of Potters Press or Raw Earth though if you can affordd it as they will take a lot of the frustration out it. I like to think im pretty computer literate but art time I felt like I had only just discovered fire…
Anyway, it is there forever and ever now, and I made that. Out of nothing! And now Mrs Afterwards is proud of something I did – unlike the filthy limerick book which just brought shame on the family.
Oh and I still intend to do an audio book of it too. Maybe next month. 😊
You can find it on Amazon USA here
And you can find it on Amazon UK here
Or you can buy it on LULU here – and I think this is the nicer version though it cost a bit more with postage…and it is only hard cover on there.
Quick recap for you…
I have written before about why I started my blog. For those who missed it one of the main reasons was due to a friend who’s wife (now ex), an aspiring writer and a vile human being, insisting that anyone that self publishes does so as an act of vanity which is probably why she had never been published and for the most part refused to work. I proceeded to take up writing and publish a book of limericks – which I dedicated to her – just to spite her.
Anyway, I have now pretty much finished a second one. This one is much less filthy, has no mention of boobs or prostitutes or weird penis’ and is actually a children’s story book. Still got some general fiddling and editing to do and need to get it all put on Amazon but hey-ho, there you go. I won’t be dedicating this one to here either. She’s had her turn.
Oh and if youre looking for an amazing artist look up Naya Kirichenko, who did the art, damn she’s good and such fun to work with.
More to follow on this!
My fist book can be found at the links below
Paperback in the UK is here https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1916089011
And in the US here https://www.amazon.com/dp/1916089011
UK E-Book is here https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07QF58TYM
The US E-Book is here https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07QF58TYM
Well I never, this is post number 1000, and I’m not really sure where to start really.
I don’t think I will linger on why I started, I think I wrote about that somewhen once here if you’re interested, and it seems like 5 minutes since I wrote my 100th post so to get to a thousand is pretty fab.
As a writing journey it has been so much more rewarding and so much more fun than I could ever have imagined. Some days I find myself bursting with limericks an others its flash fiction but barely a day goes by that I don’t have something I want to put down on paper.
Fitting it all into a busy work and family life is never easy, and some days it takes a real effort and a lack of sleep to get written what I want to share. Last month I penned a 35000 word story to M’s fabulous prompts yet so far this month time seems to have escaped me a little and all I have managed is a barrage of limericks and haiku. There have also been loads of poems, posts about my life, pictures of where I live and a few on dieting even. Whatever it is I have loved writing every one and they all thrill me equally.
The biggest surprise for me throughout though has been the people. You lot. I think I wrote about it here but I cannot stress enough how important I have found the support of anyone and everyone who for whatever reason has chosen to follow or read me. I cant name you all but you know who you are. Thank you. Throw in all the wonderful people I have been able to follow (and I wish I had time to read and follow more than I do) and it all adds up to a most pleasant surprise indeed.
So what next then I ask myself? I am.not the most introspective of types so mostly I will just keep muddling on.
Well I am going to do a couple of books this year I think. One on Limericks of course (given that I have written over 350 of them), and I intend to turn the In-Between thingy into a novella and who knows what else. This certainly feels very much like the beginning only so thanks for sticking with me so far I hope you enjoy what is to come.
I saw the prompt and my mind instantly went back to an event a few years ago now that you might like. You also might not but it’s a true story either way.
It was a lovely summers day and I remember being sat in the living room, as we English are prone to do when we have good weather, when my eldest could be heard laughing hysterically at the top of the stairs. I’m talking out of control belly laugh. He was about 7 at the time, and Tom my youngest about 4.
“What’s so funny Sam” I shout up the stairs and he can’t answer, simply pointing down the stairs and out into the garden. I looked and was at first uncertain until I noticed Tom wandering around the garden with his trousers around his ankles trailing a good ten feet of soiled toilet paper behind him hanging from his bottom.
Obviously my first instinct was to grab my camera to get a good video and as Sam continued to howl hysterically I headed down the garden to capture the moment for posterity.
At this point my wife was alerted to something going on and I heard a cry of distress from the upstairs window an the thundering of feet down the stairs as sh and Sam hurried down the back steps and into the garden too.
“What the bloody hell is going on” she shouted *or something like that) “and why the hell are you filming it and not cleaning up. Curiously that wasn’t a question that had crossed my mind. Perhaps that just shows how different men and women are.
Before I know it a hasty investigation reveals that Sam had tossed Tom a loo roll when he said he needed to go (we only had one loo in the house at the time which Sam was using) and told him to go in the garden. Which Tom did.
“Get some carrier bags” she says to me “and put that bloody camera away.”
The look on her face suggested that she was not to be trifled with so I hurried into the house returning with bags to use to clean up the mess. By this point Tom had pointed out where he had relieved himself and the wife took one of the bags to pick up his leavings.
Probably should point out at this point that I have a quite terrible gag reflex and am prone to heaving and lurching at the sight of bodily fluids which would explain why I begin to gag, eyes watering, as she attempts to pick up the remains of Tom’s lunch.
“Just help will you and pick up that toilet roll” she says pointing to the yards of soiled twin ply littering the garden. I respond by gagging uncontrollably as I near it, which in turns sets off Sam who himself starts to gag.
“What is wrong with you people” she shouts as we both stand there gagging as she ties the bag full of Toms number two but this sight is simply too much for Sam who suddenly starts to projectile vomit across the garden.
“Oh god no “ she shouts panicked clutching a bag of the youngest’s poo as I crack up unable to do anything other that alternate between laughing and gagging, “Just help will you, god what are the neighbours going to think.”
At this point we were about to find out not what the neighbours thought but certainly what their dog thought as she trotted along and quite merrily began to eat Sam’s vomit.
It is all very much a blur from that point on but I know there was screaming and shouting and the dog looked most satisfied with whatever Sam had had for lunch and I eventually stopped gagging though it was too late to recover the position.
It wasn’t long after that we started planning to have the second bathroom put in.
Afterwards 